


Better Together

by orphan_account



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Gen, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-26
Updated: 2012-12-26
Packaged: 2017-11-22 13:00:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/610098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The nature of fear is not incontrovertible.</p><p>(aka the story where Jack teaches Pitch that fear is not inherently evil)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Better Together

 

 

All men receive their due, in time. It seems like justice when the children forget Pitch, his name fading from their minds like the darkness from the sky as the moon sinks, satisfied, below the horizon, and still Jack cannot dredge up the sense of victory he should be feeling, even as Pitch refuses to yield, stubborn until he is swallowed by his own nightmares in a thunderstorm of fear. Tooth celebrates openly, and Jack does not begrudge her that; she out of all of them has been hurt the most by the Boogeyman’s actions. Jack himself feels only relief that everyone is safe, and a shallow, sickening anxiety he does not know the cause of.

 

It seems right that Pitch himself should be the one to fade, after coming so close to inflicting that fate on the Guardians. It seems right that Pitch should be the one to cower before them, after caring so little for the children they were all created to protect in their own way.

 

It is right that Pitch should lose the battle, in the end, and yet Jack cannot shake the restlessness welling up inside of him, telling him that there is something he has left undone.

 

 

 

“It will be alright,” he whispers to Baby Tooth, who rolls her eyes at him meaningfully. He knows courtesy dictates he listen to her this time, considering his past mistake, but Jack has nothing to fear this time.

 

He has nothing to fear, but fear is irrational, and Jack would be lying if he tried to deny the hint of panic curling around his heart as he submerges himself in the darkness. Now that he knows what the passage under the abandoned bed leads to, he sees shadows in the impenetrable darkness and searches for Pitch in an empty tunnel.

 

Baby Tooth hovers at his shoulder until the darkness covers them completely; she has suffered too much to follow him further. He is glad for the company, no matter how brief, and he is grateful to her for accompanying him so far despite her obvious misgivings. About halfway down, Jack begins to hear the first signs of life: muffled sobbing; a harsh cry that breaks off into the clatter of hooves; the derisive snorts of horses. He holds his staff out in front of him like a shield and enters the lair.

 

It is dark, still, inhospitable and seemingly drained of life. The black cages are empty now, but Jack still feels his stomach rebel when he looks at them, and at the shattered globe displayed further in. Stepping cautiously over wisps of dark smoke which snap at his ankles as he passes them, Jack follows the cries and whinnies to a smaller chamber, as dark as a starless sky.

 

The Nightmares hound Pitch constantly, trampling him with their sorrows and covering him with choking fear. Jack watches with growing pity as his former enemy shivers on the ground with his arms wrapped tightly around his knees, a shadow of his former self. Some part of Jack screams that this could have been him, too, had he gone with Pitch after the Guardians had lost faith in him. Some part of Jack screams that this could very well have been him, too, if a young boy had not taken a leap of faith and believed.

 

“Pitch Black,” Jack calls, shrouding the Nightmares in ice. He takes the man by the arm and nearly flies them both outside, away from the lingering fears that reside in the den. “I’m here to give you your name back.”

 

 

 

“My name?”

 

Pitch laughs, and it’s a fraction hysterical. Pitch flinches at every noise, whether it be the snap of a branch or the call of a bird, and he looks paler than Jack remembers.

 

“I have a name already,” Pitch hisses, and he shrinks back on himself immediately after he speaks, emulating the emotion rather than its cause. “I am the Boogeyman. I am Fear.”

 

Jack raises an eyebrow, tapping his staff against the ground.

 

“Are you really?” he asks. “Because I don’t feel as if I’m in the presence of fear at all.”

 

Perhaps Pitch fears losing the only part of his identity he still has left more than he fears Jack, because the words make him rise up, unable to make eye contact with Jack but determined to stand with his back straight now, his hands clenched by his sides.

 

“I am fear!”

 

“No,” says Jack. He feels surer now that he has voiced his thoughts. “You aren’t so fearful now, are you? And I’m not afraid either. There must be something more to you than fear.”

 

“Darkness,” Pitch replies. His shoulders sag again, curling in on each other so he stands with his arms held defensively in front of him. “I am the living embodiment of fear and I make my home in darkness. There’s nothing more to me, just like there is nothing more to you than cold and mischief.”

 

Jack’s eyes grow wide. A smile, gentle as a breath of wind, begins to emerge on his face as he runs his fingers over a small object in his pocket. He curls his hand into a fist around it and brings it out into the sunlight.

 

“You see this doll,” he begins. “This is how you see me: as someone who brings the cold and spends all his time playing pranks on people.”

 

Pitch stares dubiously at the toy, shuffling his feet like he wants to leave but can’t for fear of what Jack would do to prevent that from occurring.

 

“A babushka doll,” he observes with a sliver of the old derision in his voice showing through. He shuffles forward and snatches it from Jack’s hand. “I suppose you want to tell me that you are a _multifaceted_ and _complex individual_ , and that there is more to you than what first meets the eye.”

 

“Essentially,” Jack says, a little unnerved.

 

“Then you’re wasting your time,” Pitch tells him, aiming for dismissive but sounding apologetic instead. “I realized, when I tried to form an alliance with you, that for all our similarities, you are not like me. This simply proves that I was right.”

 

“And aren’t we all grateful for that,” Jack mutters, unable to resist. He regrets his words when Pitch closes his mouth halfway to the explanation, too cowed to continue. “I’m sorry. That was rude of me.”

 

“No offense taken,” murmurs Pitch. “You have the better side of it, after all. The children like what _you_ do.”

 

“I thought the Man in the Moon asked you to be a Guardian too,” says Jack, eyes narrowed. He has heard the story from Tooth. “Why would he have chosen you if he didn’t believe you were special?”

 

“Because I am the villain,” Pitch replies, his voice soft as shadow.

 

“You chose that path,” Jack objects. He isn’t here to listen to Pitch weave lies of self-pity like a web around them. The balance of power could easily shift in another direction if Pitch rediscovers his old self-confidence for even a second.

 

“Fear is evil,” counters Pitch, like he has repeated this to himself a thousand times and been unable to find fault with the idea. “Fear keeps children safe only because it reminds them of something they hate. Fear may have a positive effect, but the emotion is inherently evil.”

 

He looks at Jack’s feet, still unable to make eye contact with the new Guardian.

 

“ _I_ am inherently evil.”

 

 

 

It sounds right, and Jack refuses to accept it as the truth. He can see parts of himself reflected in Pitch, and he cannot believe that these parts of him are inherently evil as well. Jack hears his heartbeat begin to quicken. The restlessness inside of him has resolved into an aching emptiness, a quiet longing that yearns for answers only Pitch seems to hold.

 

“That’s impossible,” Jack says. “None of us is inherently evil.”

 

Pitch looks around for absent Nightmares and shakes his head.

 

“You wouldn’t know,” he says. “What does fear exist for, then, if not to act as an effective form of blackmail?’

 

When Jack first heard how Pitch had also been chosen as a Guardian, he had wondered that too. Now, after dozens of snow days and weeks of flying dangerously close to the treetops, Jack thinks he might just have an answer which will satisfy everyone.

 

“Do you know what goes together better than darkness and cold?” he asks conversationally. Pitch shakes his head, eyes averted, clinging to the foetal position which had served him almost adequately against the Nightmares.

 

Jack takes hold of Fear by the hand and brings it to his chest, laying it on the faded blue fabric of his hoodie right above his heart.

 

Pitch draws in a sharp breath. His fingers are trembling.

 

“Come on and find out,” Jack urges. He doesn’t let go of Pitch’s hand, and his cool touch steadies his former enemy. “Give me a touch of fear.”

 

The darkness rises. Pitch takes hold of the seed of fear he had learnt was able to poison dreams, and remembers the power he had stolen with it. He remembers being strong, and he remembers being feared. He recognizes the opportunity presented to him.

 

Fear breeds cowardice. Cowardice precludes action.

 

In the instance before he acts, Pitch feels his own power growing in his hand. He means to pour it out onto Jack, to make the boy pay for underestimating him, for treating him like a child, as if Jack Frost had anything to teach Pitch Black. He feels what Jack is afraid of; he knows that despite what the Guardians had said after the battle, Jack is afraid of Pitch _now_ , in this crucial, excruciating moment. Pitch wants to drown Jack in fear, and then he wants to obey Jack, to see what Jack is planning to do with the fear Pitch will curse him with.

 

Pitch is no longer the self-confident Boogeyman, the origin of fear, and so he hesitates, hand on Jack’s heart, the boy’s rapid pulse drumming against his palm. The dark tendrils winding their way around his fingers explode out of control, feeding on Pitch’s uncertainty, on his fear. They surround him, devour him, consume him in a sea of dread, and he falls to the ground screaming in silence, unable to move, unable to make a sound lest the darkness crawl inside of him and scatter him from the inside.

 

“Pitch!”

 

It is Jack Frost: Jack, the boy who single-handedly held back an army of nightmares when Pitch was at full power; Jack, the boy who had kept the children believing and taught them to laugh in the face of fear; Jack, who is surely angry with Pitch for the outburst and would punish him; Jack, whom Pitch fears as much as he fears the Moon, the sun and the stars, the earth itself.

 

“Pitch! Don’t be afraid.”

 

It is an easy thing for Jack Frost to say. _He_ doesn’t see the children walking through him for eternity as Pitch does. _He_ doesn’t see a child who had believed grow sick and die even when he wrenches his eyes open to end the nightmare. _He_ doesn’t have anything real to fear.

 

“Your fears don’t have to be real either,” Jack murmurs, and his voice is so close now. Pitch doesn’t dare look up, but when he casts his eyes along the ground around him he sees that the darkness has been sheathed safely in ice. Some would call it beautiful; Pitch knows he would have, once. Now, the sight fills him with terror.

 

“Now try again,” Jack says.

 

Pitch looks at him incredulously.

 

“We nearly died,” he snarls. “We…”

 

“We made it,” Jack says, and there is a smile spreading across the boy’s face, so wide and honestly joyful that Pitch can’t understand it. “We survived.”

 

“We survived,” Pitch echoes. Little by little, the panic begins to fade, giving way to an enormous onslaught of relief. He feels light, and buoyant, almost reckless in the absence of crippling fear. He is still scared, and yet he feels daring. It is incomprehensible.

 

“Do you understand now?” asks Jack breathlessly.

 

“Understand what?” Pitch sneers. He is certain that Jack will not hurt him. “Was this your little Guardian plan all along? To frighten me into believing that I can protect children too?”

 

“Actually – ” Jack begins.

 

“Too bad for you,” continues Pitch, not caring that he has just interrupted Jack. Perhaps the boy will resort to force now. The thought scares him, and that sends a thrill through his spine, a shiver of excitement. How far can he push before Jack pushes back? How well can he fight back before he succumbs? Is it possible that he will cause Jack to surrender instead?

 

He tilts his head, preparing for Jack’s reaction.

 

“Too bad for you, because the fear was still a negative part of the experience. You can’t turn fear into something good, Jack. That’s nothing but a child’s dream.”

 

He knows he has made a mistake the moment he lets the words slip from his tongue. Jack’s eyes turn bright, his very face shining with exhilaration.

 

“Now,” Jack says, gesturing animatedly at nothing in particular. “What are you feeling now?”

 

“If I wanted to talk about my feelings I would go to a psychiatrist,” snapped Pitch. “I’d be able to convince one I was real eventually.”

 

“Are you scared now?” Jack asks, as if Pitch hadn’t said a word. “Are you scared of me?”

 

Pitch feels like slapping that stupid smile right off the boy’s freckled face.

 

“Are you done gloating?” he returns sullenly. “I’m sorry, but you barely frighten me at all compared to my own power when it’s out of control.”

 

“Good,” says Jack, leaping on top of his staff like some sort of animal. “Control it this time.”

 

Pitch flicks a spark of fear right into Jack’s chest, making sure he knocks the boy off the staff in the process.

 

“How was that for a touch of fear?” he calls. He is not expecting Jack to flip over before he touches the ground and float up into the air on a sudden gust of wind with a smile that, if possible, is even wider than the one he had been wearing previously. “What is _wrong_ with you?”

 

“I was scared,” Jack calls back. “I was scared of falling, and it made things all the more exciting.”

 

“You’re an idiot,” says Pitch. It’s the only thing he can think of. “Either that or one of those rare people who actually like pain. Whichever it is, I don’t think it’s something you should be proud of.”

 

Jack flies over and lands softly on the snow. He is radiant now, springing across the ground with steps so light he might as well have been on the moon.

 

“ _I was scared_ ,” he repeats, “but it was even more fun because of that.”

 

All of a sudden, Pitch becomes aware of his mind opening up to something new. Jack’s words reach him as the last piece slides into place.

 

“Fear,” Jack says, “enhances emotion.”

 

 

 

“What is life without risks?” queries Jack as they fly over Chicago. He strokes an invisible beard and makes his eyebrows shoot high into his hairline. “I know; it is boring. Think of rollercoasters. They are merely there so you can have fun feeling scared, correct?”

 

“Your Russian accent is appalling,” says Pitch, although it had actually been more than passable. “Also, I get it already. You can shut up now.”

 

“I didn’t have much company for three hundred years,” says Jack with a shrug too casual to be natural. “I’ve developed the bad habit of carrying on a conversation even without the other side’s input. I’m surprised you’ve managed so well without talking to yourself.”

 

“You won’t need that habit anymore,” Pitch says, watching Jack’s fears manifest around him, invisible to everyone in the world but Pitch Black. Ironic, perhaps, that fear makes itself visible to him alone, when he is invisible to the world. He fears, sometimes, that he will lose even that, but his fear makes him treasure them more, and the anxiety that comes with an unknown future is exciting, in a way. “You had better get rid of it before I do.”

 

Jack frowns.

 

“What do you mean, before you do?”

 

He will never admit it to Jack, but Pitch had practised his monologues for hours in preparation for his failed scheme to extinguish belief. Neither will he admit that he had regularly talked to people who couldn't hear him, mainly so that he could curse them behind their backs as a paltry substitute for vengeance.

 

“I mean that if you annoy me too much, I’ll set my Nightmares on you.”

 

“Better make sure they don’t go after you instead,” Jack says, and Pitch feels his heart shudder to a stop briefly before the realization that Jack is _joking_ with him reaches his mind. When it does, his obligatory scowl can’t hide his relief at figuring out that to Jack Frost, at least, Pitch has no more reason to fear the night.

 

“What goes together better than cold and darkness?” Pitch asks suddenly. He still doesn't know the answer.

 

Jack smiles, eyes sparkling with the promise of new adventures.

 

“A healthy dose of fun, of course,” he answers, “and a touch of fear to make things interesting.”

 

 

 

In time, all men will receive their due. It was right that Pitch should be punished for his crimes, and it was right that the origin of fear should be controlled by it. Yet all men are given the chance to redeem themselves eventually.

 

All they need to do is reach out to take it.

 

 

 

“I still think it’s stupid to become a Guardian,” Pitch tells Jack. “I would never trust my powers to _children_.”

 

“I’m not asking you to become one,” Jack replies wearily. “I don’t think the Groundhog, for instance, is even aware that there’s a difference between adults and children.”

 

“Don’t compare me to the Groundhog,” says Pitch, horrified. “His sense of fashion is so outdated it’s a wonder he doesn't walk around in nothing but fig leaves.”

 

Jack aims a flurry of miniature snowballs at Pitch’s exposed chest.

 

“His clothes are more practical than yours,” he says. Pitch stares at him for a second in utter shock before the outrage begins to show. Jack embraces the dark tendrils of fear which burst from Pitch’s fingertips and wind their way around his throat. His heart almost skips a beat, but above the fear sits a tentative trust that he will not be consumed by the black strands.

 

Pitch weighs a snowball in his hand, gazing at Jack in contemplation, and Jack grins in acceptance of the challenge.

 

He balances a snowflake on his palms and sends it fluttering towards Pitch like a butterfly making its way home.

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'ed. I apologize for any errors you may have picked up!
> 
> I worry often that I'm not very clear when I write, so here's a little explanation of what Jack is trying to say to Pitch:
> 
> Fear is not an inherently evil emotion which can possibly be used for good. Rather, it is an emotion which is uncomfortable, but does not have to be unwelcome. Without fear, there is no adrenaline, and minimal motivation. The very slight fear of falling in a roller coaster or when doing extreme sports would not be classed as a bad emotion, and would instead heighten the feelings of fun and excitement caused by doing those things.
> 
> When the Man in the Moon chose Pitch as a possible Guardian, Pitch at one point interprets this with North as 'you reward the good kids, I scare the bad kids', and North says 'not exactly...' Personally, I believe that the Man in the Moon's original intentions for Pitch as a guardian were more along the lines of the fun-fear type.
> 
> I could be wrong, though! If you have any other thoughts about this, I'd be delighted if you let me know :D


End file.
